Beginnings
by Xenitha
Summary: How did the boys learn to be International Rescue? A few vignettes of their training days and disasters.


BEGINNINGS-

COLORS

Scott Tracy unpacked the last box in his new suite of rooms on the Island and surveyed his work. He didn't have much by way of belongings. He'd travelled light in the Air Force, but was glad to enjoy the luxury furnishings Dad had supplied for the island house. What comfort, a new bed with a firm mattress, quiet and privacy. His head turned when he heard the sound of feet pounding down the shared hallway. Okay, privacy but maybe not quiet. The door to his room opened wide and his youngest brother Alan poked his blond head through the opening. He must have ignored the 'do not disturb' light. No surprise there.

"Hey, Scott! Dad says there's a meeting in the lounge! Right now!" Having delivered his news, Alan continued down the hallway, leaving the door open.

Well, no privacy, no quiet but he'd never had either until he'd gone off to college. He grinned and rubbed his unshaven chin; there were other compensations to being out of the service. He could finally grow that beard he'd always wanted.

He wandered into the newly painted lounge area and took a seat on one of the designer couches Dad had ordered. Virgil had called it 'Danish Modern', Scott just called it comfortable. "Hey, Virg!" he called out as his younger brother came in and took the seat next to his. "How's the 'bird coming?"

"She's going to be a beauty," Virgil said with the enthusiasm which always flavored his discussions of Thunderbird Two.

"You really are painting her green? Even if she is going to look like a tortoise with wings?" Scott asked, grateful that his gorgeous rocket was going to be silver. "What happened to Alan's idea?"

Virgil frowned at the tortoise comment, then continued. "Nah, Alan's idea is dumb. Orange is way too flashy for a big aircraft like Thunderbird 2. I like the green we picked out and it will wear well too. If Alan wants' an orange thunderbird, he can paint his own that color! And wait until you see the extra features Brains is installing in my girl; he says it will be in by next week. You'll have to take a look and let me demo 'em."

"I'm counting on it," Scott said as his three youngest brothers made their way in. As usual, John had his nose in an astronomy book and unerringly found a chair and sat down, never once looking up. John had been walking and reading simultaneously since early childhood, but Scott still wasn't sure why he never bumped into anything. Echo-location, maybe? Alan and Gordon went over to a couch and sat down, never stopping their discussion, waving an absent hello to their older brothers.

Jeff Tracy surveyed his gathered progeny with unalloyed pride. It had taken him years to bring this project to fruition and now it was almost complete. He tapped his desk, pitching his voice to carry over his two youngest sons' discussion, now turned argument.

"I still say it's a stupid color for a submarine," Alan insisted heatedly. "You'll look like a bath toy!" Alan's voice dropped away in the sudden silence.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the family, Alan?" Jeff asked, his voice deceptively mild.

Alan stole a glance at his brother Gordon, who hid a smirk, and replied, "No, father. Nothing to share."

"Good," said Jeff. "We're ready to put the final color coats on the thunderbirds, followed by the protective glazes. Alan and Gordon are the only ones who haven't expressed a preference, although you've had the paint samples for some time. I assume you've been considering color choices?" He looked at his youngest two sons and raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, yes sir," Gordon replied with a hint of defiance, then shot a glance at his brother Alan. "I'm ready to make a recommendation, at any rate." He straightened in his chair and ran a hand through his coppery hair. "For Thunderbird Four, I'd go with the fluorescent yellow, paint number NV18.".

"Fluorescent yellow?" Jeff looked dubious. "Why so bright a color, Gordon?"

The sound of someone humming an old folk song, "Yellow Submarine" began drifting through the room. "Stop that!" Gordon said. "There are valid reasons for this color. Thunderbird Four will be a deep sea craft. A bright color will make her more visible to other vehicles. The enamel I chose has been enhanced for greater reflectivity in a low light environment. The people I rescue will be better able to see me coming!"

Jeff covered a smile and replied, "I'm glad you have thought this out, Gordon. I see no reason not to go with your choice." And the fact that Gordon's favorite toy at age four had been a yellow submarine had nothing to do with it, he reflected.

"Alan, have you made your selection?" Jeff asked his youngest son. "Are you still insisting on red?"

"What's wrong with red? Anyway, it's not really red, it's more of an orange-red color. Paint chip number AV47." asked Alan sullenly. "It's a good-looking finish."

From the back of the room, Virgil's voice said, "It's RED. Just like your first sports car."

Gordon took it up, "And your first bike. Will you be issuing protective goggles for those of us who have to look at it?"

"Well," Jeff said mildly, "admittedly, most of the rockets I've flown have been pretty colorless. We wouldn't even be having this discussion if you all hadn't insisted on distinctive coloration. Truthfully, I was thinking more of blue."

"So Alan," John drawled from behind his book. "Are you gonna paint flames up the sides of your rocket like you did on the Trans-Am?"

Scott and Virgil stifled smiles while Gordon laughed out loud. Alan blushed. "I don't see why I have to defend my paint choice, John. You don't care what color your space station is going to be; any old thing will do for you. I just want my thunderbird to look sharp. And no," he said in a huff. "There won't be any flames up her side, just pin-striping."

To Scott's eye, Alan looked like he had as a four-year old about to throw a tantrum. Not good. "Okay, let's stop picking on Alan," Scott broke in. "Dad, is there any reason we can't go with Alan's choice?"

Jeff smiled and shook his head. "No, if you want AV47, son, that's the color it will be, whether it's red or orange." Alan stifled the urge to shoot a defiant glance at his brothers and left the meeting with the confidence that his thunderbird was going to be the best looking in the fleet.

DRESS CODE

"And honestly, Mom, I really don't want to say anything but he looks like those old bums who used to cadge money for drinks under the old freeway in Kansas City," Jeff sighed as he spoke to his mother by vid-phone.

"Why don't you just ask Scott to shave it off?" 'Grandma' Tracy said reasonably. "He's been in the military and he's lived with a dress code before."

"He's a grown man," Jeff replied. "It's bad enough that they're all going to be tied to this island by their duties. I don't want to restrict their freedoms any more than necessary to make International Rescue a reality."

His mother smiled. "Does he look anything like you did when you grew a beard?"

Jeff laughed and slapped his thigh. "He looks exactly like I did when I grew my beard at 22. Maybe that's the problem. I look at him and cringe to think I went out in public like that. You and Dad didn't say a word, and I appreciate that. By the way, the new uniforms have arrived and once you finish the sashes, we'll be taking photos."

"Oh, I see," she said with a gleam in her eye. "You're concerned about image, here. Well, Jefferson, you'll just have to accept Scott as he is for the time being. I'll be arriving in a week and I have the sashes all cut out, I just need to fit them and finish sewing them. I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Scott with his new black beard." She paused, then added. "You didn't save any of the photos of you with your beard, did you?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, I destroyed them all. Well, I'm looking forward to your visit, Mom. I'll see you soon." He signed off and leaned back in his chair, grinning at the memory of a callow Jeff Tracy with a bushy black beard.

EXTRA FEATURES

"Okay, so what is this new feature you want to show me?" Scott asked as Virgil opened the hatch to Thunderbird Two's cockpit.

Virgil grinned and motioned Scott to go ahead of him. "I talked it over with Brains and he agrees with me. We're going to be travelling long distances and probably eating and drinking on the run. So, Brains just installed this for me…" Virgil motioned toward the dash of Thunderbird two where a perfectly constructed cup holder now sat. With matching cup.

"You've got to be kidding, Virg," Scott said incredulously and, it must be admitted, with a hint of envy. "This is hardly essential rescue gear." He picked up the cup and found that the lid flipped back easily. He sniffed. Fresh, hot coffee? Glaring at his brother, he poked a finger into the cup holder and pulled it back with an exclamation. "This thing even has a cup warmer!"

"Isn't it great?" Virgil said enthusiastically. "Now I'll always have hot coffee on rescues. That'll be a help, especially with cold weather rescues."

"Yeah. It will," Scott said darkly.

A week later, Scott cornered Virgil in Thunderbird Two's cabin. "Hey Virgil," he said proudly. "You've got to come see! I talked Brains into installing a cup holder on the side of my chair. It's just like yours, with a heater and everything!"

Virgil calmly popped a last bit of pizza into his mouth and wiped at his fingers with a napkin. "Okay," he said brightly. "Let's go see it."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "Hey, where'd you get pizza down here?"

Virgil smiled impishly. "Didn't I tell you? Brains had planned to do some more modifications to Thunderbird Two, so I asked him to install a kitchenette."

FIRE TRAINING

Scott pulled the fire suit's hood off his head and wiped his sweaty forehead, then scratched the outgrowth of itchy beard. He understood the need to practice fire-fighting both with and without the Firefly, but doing it on a tropical island was a pain. Add the fire suit, the heat and weight of the equipment as well as the local ambient temperatures and you didn't need the fire to induce heat stroke. He'd already drawn flak from his younger brothers for his continuous reminders to drink water and stay hydrated. He might be mother-henning them, but nobody had keeled over yet.

He was worried about John. Brains had designed the Firefly with a dual drive, one engine and one handle for each track and John had been having trouble picking up the trick of coordinating the steering using the engines. Maybe practice would cure the problem or maybe he should ask Brains to redesign it to put in a steering wheel and a less tank-like transmission system. John, driving the Firefly in a seemingly straight line to the target house fire, was doing okay, so he turned to his youngest brothers.

Gordon and Alan, their bulky fire gear matching Scott's, were unloading personal tanks of dicetyline and strapping them onto their backs. All good there. He heard loud shouting off to one side and glanced back at John. Firefly was trundling swiftly off course. Instead of heading for the burning target building, it had wandered off to the left of the structure and even now was headed toward a boulder on the building's left side. Virgil, also in protective gear ran behind it, yelling, "John! Wrong direction! Stop!"

Scott shook his head in disgust, then lifted his watch to his lips. "Scott to Firefly. John, pull up! You're headed the wrong way!" The left hand tracks of Firefly ran over the boulder, tipping it up and over onto its right side and into the burning house. "Shit," Scott muttered under his breath. He pulled the hood back on, grabbed a fire extinguisher and took off at a run for the Firefly. He could hear Gordon and Allan's feet thumping behind him.

Virgil had already arrived first and was trying to douse the fire with his fire extinguisher. Scott added his extinguisher and soon all four brothers were dousing the Firefly, the house, the underbrush and each other. John, wearing the same protective gear and hood, opened the cab door and, beginning to climb out, caught a blast in the face. "Oh, no you don't," he yelled and ducked back into the Firefly, coming out loaded for bear with his own extinguisher at hand. He took aim, but Virgil got him again before he could fire.

Scott tried to order them all back on-task when he found himself looking into the nozzles of four fire extinguishers with grinning assailants. With a yelp, he beat a strategic retreat into the underbrush but was eventually brought down by Gordon and extinguished into submission.

When the battle was over, not a spark remained on the small island they'd set alight. The five fire-fighters, however, were soaked with dicetyline, as was the Firefly, the underbrush, the trees and a considerable perimeter around the 'danger zone'.

When they all squelched in to the lounge back home, Jeff merely eyed them with a raised eyebrow. "Good practice?" he asked mildly. Scott just shook his head and made his way to a hot shower, ignoring the snickers floating behind him.

PEER PRESSURE

The work was hard, but no harder than Scott had expected. Between fire practice, lifting heavy equipment and rescuing "victims" filled with sand, each of the Tracy brothers sported a set of bruises, pulled muscles and burns.

Father had installed a hot tub which got frequent use at the end of a rough day. Scott was just sinking into the steaming water, when Virgil plopped himself next to him, sending a wave cresting over Scott's face.

"Gee, thanks, Virg," Scott said with his eyes closed and reached for his towel. Mopping his face and the new beard, he went on. "If I didn't have a clean face before, I do now."

Virgil stretched out in the tub and smiled lazily at his older brother. "How can you tell if you're face is clean with all that fur on it? Seriously, Scott, you aren't going keep that thing are you? It makes you look scruffy."

Scott opened first one eye, then the other. "Why not? Besides, I'm growing it to annoy John, Alan and Gordon. None of them can grow a beard, their hair is so light. I'm making a point."

"Uh huh," said Virgil skeptically. "And that point is what? That you're hairier and more gorilla-like?"

"When The Beard is grown, it will look elegant, dapper and manly," Scott intoned. Virgil could hear the capital letters. Knowing how touchy Scott could be, he stifled the howl of laughter that threatened to get out.

"Don't take this wrong, Scott, but I just don't see you as the bearded type," Virgil said. "And I know that Dad hates it."

"It's my beard and I'm going to wear it," Scott said. "And that's final."

ARRIVAL

The house was briskly cleaned by an anxious Kyrano. Mrs. Tracy, the boys' grandmother and Jeff's mother, was arriving soon for an extended visit. If the boys hadn't been watching their crumbs and wrappers before, they were doubly vigilant now.

"I don't know why Kyrano is so worried," grumbled Virgil, while he removed two cups and a soda can from the table in his room. Gordon, toting the recyclables basket, scooped newspapers off Virgil's desk.

"Well, he doesn't want her to disapprove of the way he's taking care of us," Gordon said, leaning in for an advertising circular then stuffing it into the basket. "Grandma's a sweet lady but she can strike fear into anyone who crosses her. Remember Scott and the brownies?"

Virgil snorted, remembering a seventeen year old brother who had eaten half a pan of brownies intended for the church bake-sale. "Yeah, she scared him but good. And you're lucky Scott never told her about your part in sneaking away with the goods! Well, the house looks great, so I don't think Kyrano needs to worry." He checked his watch. "Her jet should be arriving soon."

They soon disposed of their burdens and joined the rest of the family at the runway. Within minutes a white jet emblazoned with "Tracy Enterprises" landed and a small figure made her way down the steps from the plane.

The boys crowded around as she embraced and kissed, first Jeff, then ran down the line of her grandsons from Alan until finally she stood in front of Scott. Scott wore his best clothes in blue, her favorite color for him, and had clearly made an ineffective effort to groom his beard for the occasion.

"Why Scott!" she cried, her eyes gleaming. "What a beautiful beard you have!" She reached up with both hands and ran them down his cheeks as you'd pet a cat.

Scott blushed a bright crimson but said nothing as Grandma continued to greet Kyrano and Brains. He disappeared and later reappeared about half an hour later in the lounge, where the family had gathered.

Jeff, laughing over a joke his mother had told, looked up to see his eldest son take a seat on the couch. He was clean-shaven. Jeff's grin went up a few notches. He should have known he could trust his mother to find a solution.

Virgil soon caught sight of Scott's new appearance and stifled a laugh, then elbowed Alan and Gordon when they started to tease their big brother about his new appearance. John, taking a swallow of his iced tea, was the first to bring it up. "So, Scott," he said. "Why shave off the beard now after all the trouble you took to grow it?"

Scott cleared his throat and replied, "Well, I decided it was too hot to wear in the tropics. So I decided to shave it off."

Grandma smiled and came over to her grandson. "You're a handsome man with or without the beard, Scott. Your brothers shouldn't tease you so much about it," she said with a pointed look at the younger Tracys. Scott later reflected that John had looked like he'd swallowed a frog, after Grandma's statement, but at least all comment stopped from that point.

FREE FALL

John clipped his safety harness to the skeleton that was to become Thunderbird Five and observed his four brothers at work. He didn't have any concerns about Alan, who'd had astronaut training and therefore adequate time in free fall. Gordon moved well in null-g, probably because scuba diving was second nature to him.

The ones he worried about were his two older brothers, both of whom frankly moved like water buffalo in space. They'd had some basic training in the International Space Station, but that was too public a venue for the types of construction tasks necessary to build Thunderbird Five. They'd also practiced underwater in the oceans around Tracy Island; good but not an exact correspondence. In space, for example, there is no defined up or down.

He touched his communicator. "Virgil, don't forget why your soles have magnetic plates in them; they'll anchor you to the girder and simulate gravity. You have one foot coming loose! Fasten it down!" He watched Virgil shrug in his space suit, then dig his foot back into the girder, while he held a beam steady for Gordon to weld.

Dad had put John in charge of this part of the project since he was the most experienced in free fall. In the interests of safety he'd teamed one better-skilled astronaut with a less technical partner. Gordon, who swam in space as well as in water, worked with Virgil while Alan kept a subtle eye on Scott. The trouble with older brothers, John mused, was that they were used to being the ones in charge, with better skills and advanced knowledge. They had trouble recognizing competence in a younger brother, especially when it exceeded their own abilities in that arena.

Still, she was coming together nicely. When complete, Thunderbird Five would hold a single crewmember but was capable of housing at least three if necessary. John had designed the radio telescope array that was going in. It would give him better access to the stars than any of the observatories on Earth and he wouldn't have to share telescope time. The thought made him smile to himself. And there'd be nobody there to tease him about keeping his head in the clouds all the time!

"Hey!" John was torn from his reverie by Scott's shout. He looked up to see Virgil floating slowly away from the array, despite frantic attempts to swim back.

"Your jets, Virgil, use your jets," John spoke crisply into his communicator. He spotted Scott trying to unhook his safety harness. "Scott, don't try to go get him. He's got to learn how to do this. Alan or I can go after him if need be. Virgil, you aren't at the end of your safety line yet, so try to use the jets to maneuver yourself back rather than reeling yourself back in."

They had to learn to move freely in space, not tied down by safety lines. Alan, Gordon and John were already off the ropes and Scott was making progress. But Virgil…John sighed and reminded himself to be patient, remembering how hard it had been, learning to drive that damned Firefly.

"This is supposed to be team-building, isn't it?" Virgil called out gamely as he deployed his suit's jets, moving incrementally back to the array. "I mean, you get to stop looking up to me as your infallible older brother."

John heard Gordon snicker. "We never thought you were infallible, Virg," he said patiently. "Doin' good with the jets. Just a little bit farther…You do play a mean piano, though…Doin' fine..And there you are." He let out a breath and hoped the radio hadn't caught it. Confidence. That's what Scott said a commander projected. Confidence in his men.

Boy, would he be glad when the space station was built and he could let Scott be in charge instead.

SWIMMING WITH THE FISHES

All was going well with the training and practice. At last, Scott got to test-fly his newly burnished and painted baby, this time in slow, easy laps around the island at 2,000 feet. He sighed, wishing he could floor it and really put her through her paces, but he could be patient if he had to.

He had lifted a cup of coffee from his new cup holder and was taking a swig when he heard a crackling sound, then the board went black along with the interior lights. "Damn.." he muttered, tossing the cup to the floor, suddenly struggling with the helm. He toggled the power switches to no avail and the throttles were totally unresponsive. He could feel Thunderbird One's attitude shift, her nose pointing down and her speed increasing but couldn't see a damned thing. The view screen had blacked out, as had all the instruments. He hit the eject button, then hit it again. Nothing.

The radio had a battery backup, hopefully that would work. "Base from Thunderbird One, mayday, mayday. Power has failed and helm unresponsive. I'm going to ditch." He tried to keep his voice calm, but couldn't help a quiver at the knowledge that his beautiful new rocket plane was about to hit the water.

"Understood, Thunderbird One," his father's concerned face appeared in the view screen. "Can you eject?"

"Still attempting that," Scott responded and hit the eject button again. "Eject not responsive either. I thought we wired it separately from the control systems…? Anyway, ejection not an option. Altitude unknown but dropping fast." He tried to wrestle her nose up, but nothing happened. He was in a tin can about to hit the water.

"We are tracking you, son," Jeff said, his eyes worried. "Thunderbird Two is on her way."

"FAB," Scott said absently while he double checked his safety harness. He was glad Father had insisted he wear a helmet during testing. He heard the sound of multiple voices shouting into the radio, but couldn't distinguish words over the howl of the wind, getting louder and louder before he finally hit the ocean and everything went black.

He awoke slowly to his father's voice on the radio. "Scott! Can you hear me? Scott! Please respond!...Base to Thunderbird One…respond please…"

He shook his head, grateful for the helmet and took a quick physical inventory. Nothing broken. Nothing bleeding. No pain except for some bruises and his pride. It was almost pitch dark inside his 'bird with only a green-tinged light trickling through his side window. He groped for the mike and spoke into it. "Base from Thunderbird One. Do you read me?"

"Thunderbird One from Base," his father's face, much relieved, appeared on the screen. He eyed his son carefully. "Are you all right? Are you injured?"

"I'm fine, Father," Scott said. "Between the helmet and the safety harness, I'm okay but Thunderbird One is underwater. So far, she seems water-tight but I don't know how much air is available.

"Well, sit tight," Jeff said crisply. "We've got your last known position and Thunderbirds Two and Four should be there soon."

"I'll be glad to see them," Scott said. "I want to talk to Brains about what went wrong with the power systems. Man! That was unexpected."

"Oh, he's here," Jeff said. "He can't wait to take a look, and neither can I." Jeff paused and added casually. "Since this is still a sort of practice for you all, I've given your brothers instructions to treat you like an unconscious victim. Now, I know you feel fine, but this will give them better practice than the sand-filled dummies you've been using up till now."

Scott grimaced but didn't argue. Father knew that Scott tended to minimize injury and was obviously worried about him. And he had also made a good point, that having a live 'victim' was a good training tool. It was just Scott's luck that he was the 'dummy' this time.

"FAB, Dad," he replied in resignation. To preserve the available oxygen, he signed off the radio and tried to slow his breathing and minimize movement.

Scott sat in the dark, fighting his imagination, which told him that the air was growing staler and would only get worse until he choked to death. They'd get here soon. He just had to be patient and try to nap or meditate. His brothers could be annoying but they were trustworthy. They wouldn't give up the search until they found him.

He heard some metallic tapping on the side of Thunderbird One, near the hatch. The door opened but instead of the rush of water he expected, two men in wet suits climbed through.

The first one pulled off his mask and said brightly, "Hi, Scott! My bathtub toy and I are here to rescue you." Gordon's hair stuck up in coppery spikes that accented his relieved smile.

Scott grinned. "I never called your 'bird a bath tub toy. That was Alan."

The second diver, the blonde one, removed his mask and John smirked, "And it's a really nice tub toy as well. You should've seen the speed Gordon got out of her on the way here. Here, stop that!" Scott had begun undoing his straps, planning to jump down from the pilot's seat. "Dad said he'd told you to stay put."

"Yeah," Scott said irritably. How embarrassing, being rescued by your little brothers. "Look, we don't' have to do the whole rigamarole. I can get down and let you strap me in if you really have to…"

"Dad said we were supposed to treat you like a regular victim," Gordon said, pulling open a waterproof pouch at his waist. "So, I have to take your vitals." He gave Scott his most lambent smile and pulled out a blood pressure monitor and stethoscope.

"Oh, no you don't," Scott said and began undoing the safety harness. "I'm fine and all I need is a mask, an oxygen tank and some fins."

Gordon folded his arms to his chest. "What are we supposed to do with an uncooperative victim?" he asked John musingly.

"Tranquilizer dart with restraints, I think," John replied thoughtfully, making eye contact with his oldest brother. "And we'll do it, too. So, are you going to obey orders and be our live dummy for this exercise?"

Mentally visualizing being hauled back to the island in restraints gave Scott pause. "All right, I'll cooperate. But if I ever find out who talked Dad into this…"

With a seraphic expression, Gordon checked his eyes with a mini flashlight, then his heart rate and clucked when he read the blood pressure. "It's a little high, Scott. You should try to relax more. Okay, John, I'm ready," he called to brother who was coming back in through the door with a backboard and neck brace.

"Oh good grief…" Scott was conscious that he was whining but didn't care.

John cheerfully unfolded it and inflated the people-pod that Brains had created for underwater rescues. "We have to practice with these things and you are supposed to play dead weight on this rescue." John paused. "And I repeat, that is Dad's order."

"You want dead weight?" Scott muttered. "Okay, you'll get dead weight."

He suffered the indignity of being fitted for the neck brace, strapped to the back board and inserted into the people-pod. Fortunately it had two clear plastic windows on either side so he could watch his surroundings while his brothers lugged him through the portable airlock and into the ocean. He could see Alan doing something to the exterior of Thunderbird One. He waved a hand and got John's attention, then pointed toward Alan.

John's voice came over the people-pod radio. "Alan's attaching flotation devices to Thunderbird One. Once she's on the surface Virgil's going to use the grabs to haul her out of the water."

They were going to use grabs on his baby? He'd seen Virgil's practice sessions. The train cars, retired fishing boats and shipping containers he'd lifted always looked the same when he was done with them: squashed. He could only hope that Virg had gotten better since he last watched him practice. Scott bit back what he was about to say and watched John grin, then do a thumb's up gesture. Scott was not amused.

Soon he found himself inside Thunderbird Four, being removed from the people-pod and his back board attached to a medical table. "Can I get up now?" he asked, holding onto his temper very tightly.

"Nope," Gordon said, readjusting his mask. "Sorry, you're stuck there till the end of the rescue. I'm going to go out and help Alan. John will stay and keep you company."

John slumped bonelessly in a chair by the med-table's side and propped his feet up, then opened a can of soda. "So, what happened, Scott? You were doing fine up there, then suddenly Thunderbird One was hitting the water."

"Hey, can I have one?" Scott suddenly realized he was thirsty.

John shook his head. "Sorry, nothing by mouth till Brains clears you," and took a long slurp.

Scott counted to twenty and ground his teeth. "I don't know what happened," Scott said, remembering the last minutes before everything went dark. "I heard a crackle, then all the power just—failed. Even the emergency lights didn't go on. I've got to talk to Brains. I couldn't see a damned thing, all the instrumentation failed and so did the rudder. I was just dead in the air."

Soon both Alan and Gordon were back inside Thunderbird Four and clustered at the portholes watching avidly as Alan hit the activation switch. Immediately a set of balloons attached to Thunderbird One began to inflate. Then she began to rise toward the surface.

Scott couldn't see any of this because he was still strapped to the table and his three brothers had crowded the windows out. "Guys! What's happening?" he called. "That's my 'bird out there, remember?"

"It's okay, Scott," Alan said over his shoulder. "Virgil's maneuvering with the grabs…..and he's got her. We can surface, now, can't we Gordon?"

"You got it," Gordon said. "And back we go to the Island."

Scott didn't see but heard later that Virgil placed Thunderbird One very delicately on her side onto the long trailer waiting for her on the airstrip, causing not so much as a scratch. Brains had hooked one of the big all-terrain vehicles to the trailer and slowly pulled her into the silo for repairs.

Thunderbird Four returned to the island and Scott was carried in triumph by his three brothers, past Kyrano and his father, then set down in sick room. He submitted resentfully to Brains' examination, then was released.

Jeff Tracy stopped by before Scott could leave and asked solicitously, "Are you sure you're all right, son? That was quite a crash."

Scott looked his father in the eye and said grimly, "I am FINE, father."

ANSWERS

The door chime to Jeff Tracy's private office sounded and he let Brains in. Brains' facial expression looked as though he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.

"What is it, Brains? Have a seat," Jeff gestured to a desk chair.

"Well, Mr. Tracy, I..I've determined the cause of Thunderbird One's power failure," Brains said slowly. "A..and you aren't going to like it."

Jeff stilled. The future of his dream was at risk if there was a problem with the thunderbird engines. "What is it, Brains? Can we fix it?"

Brains reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a handful of wires with melted and gnawed edges. "I found a family of rats living inside the panels of Thunderbird One. They chewed through the wiring connecting the control systems to the uh..engines. It's a miracle that Scott didn't crash on a rescue." He set the pile of wires down onto Jeff's desk. "I..I've begun an in..inspection of Thunderbird Two, but haven't found anything yet. I'd recommend that each thunderbird a..ancillary machine be inspected thoroughly before being launched a..again."

"Rats?" Jeff was dumbfounded. "I can understand that there is probably wildlife on the island, but why are they chewing the wiring?"

Brains' face fell in embarrassment. "I…uh..can explain that. I put a kitchenette in Thunderbird T..two and the boys have been using it for snacks. They've uh..probably left crumbs behind that a..attracted vermin."

"Oh, I see," Jeff said thoughtfully. "Well, In the meantime, no food will be allowed anywhere near the thunderbird silo's and drinks are limited to water only. I'll have a talk with the boys about this. I don't see why they can't help you inspect the machines and put out rat traps."

Brains brightened up. "O…okay, Mr. Tracy. I'll proceed with the inspections."

CONSEQUENCES

"What?" Scott demanded at the family meeting. "My thunderbird has rats?"

Jeff pushed the pile of wires across his desk. "I'm afraid so. According to Brains, they were attracted by all the food and crumbs you were leaving behind and nested in the wiring. That kitchenette of Virgil's is an attractive nuisance for vermin. And it almost killed you."

"Ah, Dad, does this mean we lose the kitchenette?" Virgil asked nervously.

"No," Jeff played with the pile of burnt wires absently. "But what it does mean is that until we've inspected each of the thunderbirds, you are all grounded. No leaves off-island until we're done. Oh, and Virgil," His father gave him what the boys called the 'gimlet glare'. "You will be in charge of trapping and disposing of all the rats in the silos. Scott," Jeff eyed his eldest son. "Since the rats first appeared in your machine, I have to conclude that you've been leaving crumbs or food scraps in the area. You will help Virgil trap the rats and you both will help Brains inspect Thunderbird Two and all the vehicles in the pods except for Thunderbird Four.

Hearing the sighs of relief from his remaining sons, Jeff followed up, "Alan, Gordon and John, Brains will direct you in inspecting Thunderbirds Three, Four and the new systems for Thunderbird Five. If you finish before Virgil and Scott, you will assist them too." He gave each of his sons a long look. "As of now, no food or drink except water is allowed in the silos. You will eat upstairs, if at all. Am I understood?" At their silent nods, he said, "All right, you can go."

UNIFORMS

Grandma had fitted each of the Tracy sons with an individually colored sash. She'd chosen blue for Scott, to match his eyes she said. Yellow was for Virgil, to enhance his chestnut hair. Gordon got orange to set off his reddish hair and Alan was given white because of his paler complexion.

John, standing in front of the mirror in the changing room, eyed the lavender sash with ill-concealed distaste. He'd hoped for a more…ah…manly color.

"Don't you like it, John?" Grandma asked, eyeing her grandson. "I chose that lilac color to enhance your blue eyes and blonde hair. I think it makes you look handsome."

There are times in a man's life when he has no choice but to suck it up and accept the inevitable. This was one of them. And besides, in space no one can criticize your color choice. "I think it looks great, Grandma," John said, reaching out to hug his grandmother. "And you're right, it does enhance my eyes."

John, newly released from Grandma's clutches, found the rest of his brothers admiring themselves in their International Rescue uniforms and hats in front of the big mirror just off the lounge. Scott stood in the middle with Virgil and Alan to either side and Gordon on the end next to Al. John moved in next to Gordon. Grandma was right. He did look good in the uniform. He straightened his hat and saw how much taller his brothers stood in uniform.

Looking at each of his brothers, the reality of the whole project finally hit him. They were really doing this. They weren't done with the preparation yet, but he could see what they'd be when they were ready. Already they were tanned and fit, stronger than they'd been before. Their confidence in each other had increased and, more important, they'd gelled into a team able to work together under any kind of circumstances.

Scott saw the awe growing in John's eyes and straightened up. He draped his arms over Virgil's and Alan's shoulders. In turn, Gordon grinned and draped his arms over Alan's and John's shoulders.

"Wow, we look good, don't we?" asked Alan.

"Look good? You got that right. We are International Rescue," said Scott with quiet pride.


End file.
